Terrorists, Tarantulas and Tiramisu
by billiemichael
Summary: Celebrated pastry chef and star of the TLC show Cake Boss Buddy Valastro must thwart a terrorist plot by baking a bomb cake aboard an airplane.


If only for one day, Buddy Valastro wanted nothing more than to escape his identity as the Cake Boss. The spunky Italian pastry chef was nearing his forties, and his talent for baking unique specialty cakes - which had once given him a sense of purpose in life - was starting to feel as though it were holding him back. At this late in life, he knew that his passion for cakes could never truly fade, like a marriage of two lovers which had long withstood the test of time. But for just one day, he wished that people could see him as more than the boss of cakes. Bossing around all those cakes, day after day, it got _tiring_, particularly when he had to do it in front of an audience of 2.3 million, the average viewership of TLC's hit reality show _Cake Boss_. Buddy had initially taken charge of the famed Carlo's Bakery in Hoboken, New Jersey to honor his father's memory - through the thick and thin of his baking career, a desire to make his late father proud was the driving force behind Buddy's passion. Having become a minor celebrity, he was almost beginning to question whether he had lost sight of his roots.

As he strode purposefully through the airplane to his first-class seat, Buddy tried to push these thoughts out of his mind. After all, this weekend, he _wasn't _the Cake Boss. He was a middle-aged Italian man taking a vacation to Alaska with his family, now that TLC had finally given him a break from the rigorous shooting schedule. Between the shooting schedule and his daily regimen of baking specialty cakes, Buddy barely found any time for his other hobbies. When people heard "Cake Boss" they tended to assume that was all there was to him, but little did the viewers of his reality show know, much like the layers of buttercream sandwiched between slabs of thick pound cake, there were many layers to Buddy's identity beyond fondant and red velvet. In fact, when he wasn't busy being the Cake Boss, Buddy liked to collect tropical or rare fish, often from secluded and dangerous locations, and keep them on display in his New Jersey home. When worries of cake orders that were piling up kept Buddy awake at night, he liked to wander over to the aquarium in his living room and sit in front of it on the floor, staring up in wonder. Although Buddy himself couldn't swim, he liked to imagine himself as weightless as these rare fish, gliding carelessly through a coral reef without a trouble in the world. That Colombian Shark in the corner probably never had any cakes to bake, Buddy would think, watching the fish wistfully. Or if it did, it was probably only one at any given time.

The salmon was a fish notoriously difficult both to procure and to maintain, but Buddy had decided this weekend was the perfect time to rise to the challenge. His extended family, who were as clueless to Buddy's non cake-related passions as the viewership of _Cake Boss_, were under the impression they were going to attend the Annual Alaskan Cannoli Convention. They had no idea of Buddy's true intentions of catching a wild Alaskan salmon, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hide this part of himself from them.

Buddy was turning this dilemma over in his head as he sat down beside his wife Lisa, much like one turns a whipped filling over and over again, to capture as much air as possible. He could see the white frothy mixture in his mind's eye, and felt the sudden urge to bake a cake. _Not now, Buddy_, he thought, and settled back in his seat, all thoughts of cake pushed aside.

Lisa placed a hand on her husband's knee and offered a gentle smile, noticing his discomfort. "I know how you don't like to fly, honey. But don't worry, we'll be there in no time. Hey, at least we've got the entire _famiglia _here with us - right?"

Indeed, the entire cast and crew of _Cake Boss_, including Buddy's entire extended family and many talented cake decorators and even delivery boys, were aboard the flight. His four sisters sat in the rows directly behind him, arguing in shrill voices with piercing Jersey accents.

"Bud_dy_, can you believe Mary sold a wedding cake with off-kilter tiers to a-"

"I did _not_, Grace, that cake was in perfect-"

"Girls." Buddy whirled around in his seat to face them. The plane hadn't even taken off and already he was getting aggravated. "I don't got time for this now. I told you'se four, I don't wanna talk about cake. I don't even wanna hear the word 'cake'. Shut your goddamn traps."

The women faltered, glared silently at Buddy until he turned back around, and then resumed arguing amongst each other. Although he was family, they knew Buddy always had the last word. He was the Boss, after all.

In the row across from them sat Buddy's children, who were shifting excitedly in their seats. Due to the fact that cake or Italian pastries were the only foods Buddy allowed to be fed to his children, unfortunately two out of the four had already been diagnosed with type two diabetes, before their twelfth birthday.

"Don't forget your insulin injection!" Lisa called over cheerfully, but young Sofia already had the needle in her arm. Little did his family know that Buddy had been replacing the insulin with cake batter - he didn't trust modern medicine.

Dispersed around the rest of the plane were the remaining cast and crew of _Cake Boss_, as well as a number of other passengers who probably didn't know the first thing about cake. Buddy's eyes glazed over these sorry folks and he shook his head sadly. Despite the troubles and stresses that came with being a celebrated pastry chef, Buddy could never imagine - or even _try _to imagine - a life devoid of the pleasures of cake. He looked at the oblivious passengers in disapproval - an elderly woman crocheting cheerfully. A teenage boy hungrily devouring a slice of cherry pie. _Pie_. Buddy had to restrain himself from spitting in disgust, and tore his eyes away from the vile sight, resting his gaze instead on a trio of men sitting behind the boy. It was hard to tell their age, as the three were all clad in black beanie caps with bandanas tied around the lower part of their faces. Only their eyes, as cold as a freshly baked ice cream cake, peered out at Buddy intensely. The master chef sat up a bit and noticed that each had a shiny revolver tucked into his seat pouch, pressed up against a copy of _Sky Mall_. Something about the sight struck Buddy as unusual - as unusual as a cake without fondant. He settled back in his seat and pulled out a mushy, lint-coated cupcake from his pocket, chewing it thoughtfully.

The grating voice of Buddy's young Italian wife pulled him back into reality. "You know, Buddy," Lisa said, in a tone of voice that suggested she was choosing her words carefully, "I knows you wanna get away from the whole..._cake _thing this weekend." Buddy swallowed his cupcake and pursed his lips, knowing well what was coming. Lisa continued. "But the _President of the United States _is gonna be in Alaska this weekend, and I just think it's a shame you didn' bake him a cake! Here the Cake Boss is, going to Alaska empty handed, without a single cake for tha' President." She shook her head in disapproval. "What's he gonna think?"

"Lisa," Buddy said slowly, "I's _told _you I ain't gonna bake no cakes this weekend. Not for nobody, no how."

She sighed. "But you know, your _fatha' _woulda been so proud, his only son baking a cake for the-"

"_Do not _bring my fatha' into this." Lisa knew how sensitive Buddy was on the topic of his father, and she immediately regretted bringing it up. It was clear her husband was beginning to get aggravated. "You're startin' to get me aggravated, Lisa. My fatha' was a great man, an'-" Tears sprung to Buddy's eyes at the memory of his late father, and he shifted his gaze downward so Lisa wouldn't notice. "I can never...truly live up to the sorta man he was. The sorta baker he was. It don't matter if I bake a cake for tha president, it don' matta if I bake a cake for the goddamned king of New Jersey! You… you don' understand." Buddy rested his head in his hands, turning away from his wife. They fell into a mournful silence.

The silence wouldn't last long, though. It was about twenty minutes into the flight when all hell broke loose.

Ignoring the illuminated fasten seatbelt sign, the three masked men suddenly rose in unison, wielding their guns, and marched straight towards the head of the plane, pushing aside the flight attendants that urged them to remain in their seats. Buddy narrowed his eyes and watched them attentively - something about those men just didn't sit right with him. As it turned out, the Cake Boss's suspicions were not unfounded - moments later they reemerged from the cockpit with the pilot and co-pilot in tow - a gun pointed at each of their heads.

"Lisa," Buddy said, his eyes widening. He recalled a recent cake delivery gone wrong, the emotion he felt opening the delivery truck door, with the sinking feeling in his stomach that the cake had been damaged en route. Indeed, as soon as the once beautiful beach party-themed cake was revealed, it was plain to see that fondant was peeling off in sheets. "I think these guys is up to no good," he said slowly. In the pit of his stomach, Buddy had the same feeling he'd had as he truck door rolled open.

"Alright," one of the men said, pressing the gun against the temple of a trembling pilot. The stunned passengers watched the three terrorists without a word. "We're taking this plane hostage. You may be aware that the President of the United States is making an appearance today near our destination - well, we're gonna be takin' a bit of a detour," he paused, a dark glimmer in his eyes, "and we're gonna flight this baby straight into him."

At this, the passengers erupted into screams, and chaos reigned aboard the plane. "They're gonna fly the plane into _the President of the United States_," Buddy repeated to himself, tasting the words in his mouth like he would a savory buttercream. He could see the sheets of fondant peeling off in the afternoon sun, revealing an ugly skeleton underneath. The situation felt too horrific to be real.

At the front of the plane, the head terrorist was cackling to himself while watching the chaotic scene unfold before him. "All right, relax, everyone!" he shouted finally, and the passengers gradually fell into renewed silence. "We'se three are gonna take out your precious President and all'a youse along with him, whether you like it or not. And ain't anyone who can stop us!" With that, he erupted into a fit of cruel laughter and led the pilots back into the cockpit, cackling all the way. The other two terrorists remained in place to keep watch on the passengers.

"Buddy, what're we gonna _do_?" Lisa demanded, leaning towards her husband. Usually Buddy always had the answer - add more modeling chocolate, shift the tiers to the right, make the water out of piping gel. But this time, he was speechless. His entire family was going to die, and Buddy had never felt so helpless in his life.

He wasn't sure how long he sat in a stupor, trying to resign himself to such a terrible fate, but gradually he came to with the help of his sisters' shrill, anxious bickering. One of them tapped him on the shoulder and he turned, exasperated and ready to explain why he didn't want to resolve one of their petty disputes with just the remainder of this flight left to live. It was the most soft-spoken of his four sisters, Madeline, who stared back at him.

"Buddy, I think I gots an idea," she said under her breath. The other three sisters, Lisa, and the Cake Boss himself leaned towards her attentively, although Buddy had his doubts. He shook his head and threw up his arms in dismay.

"Look sis, I dunno what you think we're gonna do! All's you got here is a small-time baker from Hoboken and his little _famiglia_. We'se about as done as a cheesecake in a waterbath."

Madeline looked at him steadily. She knew exactly how done he meant, yet she seemed unconvinced. With a glint in her eyes, she explained, "Those three loons, they was sittin' behind us the whole flight, and I happened to pick up on their conversation. And one'a the guys - the little one - he kept droppin' these subtle hints the others weren't picking up on." She paused and glanced behind her, as if they might still be back there. "I think…" She looked around nervously, seemingly afraid to voice her idea.

"Spit it out, sis! We ain't got time to waste."

"Well, I'm pretty sure it's his _birthday_, and the other two forgot. And he don't seem too happy hijackin' a plane on his birthday."

"_Tiramisu_! What'dya want me to do, sing him a song? You're _pazz_, Madeline!" Often Buddy was truly exasperated by the unending stupidity of his sisters. It explained why he was the Cake Boss, and they weren't.

Lisa narrowed her eyes, seemingly lost in thought. "Wait...I think I know where you're going with this. You're sayin'...Buddy oughta deliver him a birthday cake, with a...a _bomb _baked inside that will blow the guys to pieces when they cut it open."

"Yes, _yes_!" Madeline nodded excitedly and grabbed Buddy's hand.

Buddy was baffled by his wife's proposition, and he looked from her to his sisters in confusion. "But… I didn't bring no bomb cake on the plane," he reminded them, fingering the cupcake crumbs in his pocket to help calm his nerves. First a trio of terrorists go hijacking his plane, and then his sisters start making ludicrous suggestions, as usual. He wished he was back in his living room, watching his fish carry on with their untroubled lives.

"No, but Buddy," Mary leaned forward excitedly, "You gotta _bake _the cake. You got all your supplies, right?"

"Well, yeah…" He gestured upwards at the overhead storage area, where his industrial cake oven, fondant sheeter, mixers, and various other supplies were stowed. "I mean, I don't go nowhere without the necessities."

"So all's we gotta do is find a bomb."

His sisters already set about scanning the passengers for a bomb technician, but Buddy still wasn't convinced. "Hey!" he barked, drawing their attention back to him. "I dunno how to tell you ladies, but this is completely _pazz_! It's _gonache_! Besides, I said earlier, this is my vacation and I ain't gonna bake no cake, no way, no how."

"But _Buddy_," Lisa implored. "You're the last hope this plane _has_!"

The Cake Boss sighed, and looked around. All of the other passengers seemed to have already caught wind of their plan, and were looking to Buddy with desperation in their eyes. A desperation as bitter and hard as one of Carlo's Bakery's signature biscotti.

"Please, Mr. Cake Boss," a little girl sitting in the next row said quietly. She had no arms or legs, her sleeves and pants limp and empty where they should have been filled with supple flesh. A war vet, by the looks of the dog tag dangling from her neck.

"What would your fatha' have done?" Lisa asked, resting her hand on his. The words brought back a fresh wave of emotion in Buddy. He closed his eyes and saw his father's lined face, offering his son a wistful smile. The hijacking felt especially emotional for Buddy, in part because it caused so many painful memories to resurface - it was when the gifted pastry chef was only a teenager that his father had been taken from him. Like Buddy's love for collecting rare fish, his father found pleasure in a similar past time - when he wasn't baking specialty cakes, he acted as one of America's most notorious Italian terrorists, hijacking planes and planting bombs on busy street corners. In fact, it was while taking a plane headed to Hawaii hostage that Buddy's father was lost to him forever - something went wrong and the plane crashed prematurely, in the sea. His body was never recovered, but he was pronounced dead shortly thereafter.

If there was one thing that Buddy remembered about his father, it was that he never let his cake baking or terrorism get it the way of spending time with his only son. Famiglia came before all else.

Buddy began to nod slowly, cake designs already forming in his head. "Alright," he said, pronouncing each syllable as delicately as the flaky shell of a lobster tail, "Maybe we'se can do this. But...where're we gonna find a bomb?"

The plane was silent, and Buddy's heart began to sink. However, just as he was about to give up hope, a short man in a business suit rose from his seat reluctantly, a shoebox tucked under one arm. "I'm...not a bomb technician," he gulped, and gazed around at the other passengers' expectant faces nervously. "But I _am _delivering an order of venomous spiders to a pet store in Alaska. Cake Boss, maybe you could put them in your cake, and when the terrorists go to cut into it…"

Buddy leapt up from his seat. "The plane will explode into spiders."

The man gave a curt nod. "Exactly."

A wave of excitement began to spread through the plane as Buddy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering the idea. "An old-fashioned spider-bomb cake. I haven't done one of the those in years…"

The limbless young girl in the next row had a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "Think you can pull it off, Cake Boss?"

Buddy stared the girl dead in the eye, his expression dead serious. "Sugar, I'm the Boss," he said. There was a pause, before he proceeded to rip off his plaid button-down to reveal the signature Cake Boss uniform beneath - crisp, white, with _Buddy _embroidered in red on the breast. A gasp when through the plane. "Of course I can pull it off."

With the help of every passenger on the plane, Carlo's Bakery had soon been relocated from Hoboken, New Jersey, to the back of an American Airlines commercial jet. It wasn't ideal, but for the moment Buddy had a fully-functional cake kitchen, and that was all he needed. As Buddy was lining up his decorating bags, his sister Grace returned from the cockpit, where he had sent her to discreetly find out the birthday terrorist's favorite kind of cake.

"Vanilla sponge with a hazelnut cream filling," Grace reported breathlessly.

"Vanilla sponge with a hazelnut cream filling?!" Buddy exhaled sharply, a sheen of sweat already beginning to form on his brow. "That's one tough customer." He shook his head - so much for a weekend free from the stresses of cake baking. "Well, vanilla sponge with hazelnut cream it is, then."

As Buddy was beginning to mix the ingredients, he was approached by the businessman who had volunteered his spiders earlier. "Buddy, I've put the spiders in a clear plastic dome, which can be safely baked into the cake and penetrated by a knife, thus releasing the spiders onto the terrorists," he said, handing Buddy the transparent sphere of spiders. "The only thing is - the spiders have only got about an hour's worth of oxygen in there. And dead spiders aren't gonna do you much good. So you better get that cake baked, decorated and delivered to the cockpit in under sixty minutes, or we're all about as done as a fresh gelato left out in a summer afternoon!"

"_Holy cannoli_! You're telling me I gotta get that cake baked, decorated and delivered to the cockpit in under sixty minutes? You gotta be outta your mind, pal!"

The businessman nodded somberly. "I'm afraid it's the best I can do, Buddy."

If he was going to get this cake done in time, Buddy realized that he needed all hands on deck. He ordered Mauro to set about pouring the cake batter and get it in the ovens, Frankie to mix the hazelnut cream, and Danny to put several colors of fondant through the sheeter. After sending Grace back to the cockpit to investigate the man's interests, he set several sculptures to work making a figurine of the man riding a snowboard, as well as a few other items to represent his interests, including a gun and his two cats. The base would be zebra print, with a large black bandana made out of fondant wrapped around the second tier to show the man's love for terrorism. In front of it the man's name, Craig, was spelled out in fuschia lettering. Buddy understood the importance of personalizing a cake, and this was going to be one great cake.

He had just begun to dirty ice the first tier with buttercream when Grace appeared, her hand on her hip. "Buddy, we ran out out of crumb cake at the front counter," she whined.

The Cake Boss looked up from his work, annoyed and confused at the disturbance. "Whaddya talkin' about, Grace?! We're just making one cake here!"

She frowned and shook her head. "No, Buddy. We're running a functioning bakery in this plane. And we ran out of crumb cake, and they're people wanting crumb cake, I dunno what to tell them-"

Buddy pushed her aside to peer towards the front of the plane. Indeed, the glass display case was set up fully stocked with cannolis, lobster tails and a number of other pastries, and the line of customers stretched down the aisle. "Number 74!" Mary called out, and the customer stepped forward to place his order.

"_Mamma mia_! What've I gotten myself into?" Buddy sighed a sigh as long and hard as an eclair - the sigh of a man with too many cakes to bake and not enough time. He was about to return to work when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and Buddy whirled back around, about to give his sister an earful for disturbing him with so little time to spare, but instead he found himself staring into the cold, dead eyes of one of the terrorists. The leader, seemingly. Buddy stumbled backwards and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to spread his width as much as possible to block the view of their makeshift cake kitchen.

"What's going on here?" The terrorist demanded, his voice gruff and muffled under the bandana.

"Uh, nothing, sir," Buddy replied. "We'se just hangin' out back here."

The man grunted and glanced over his shoulder. The plane had fallen silent, all eyes trained on Buddy and the terrorist, with Mary frozen in the midst of handing a customer a chocolate cannoli at the counter. When his gaze fell upon her, she gasped and snatched the pastry back, hiding it from view.

"This scene don't look right to me," the terrorist said suspiciously. His eyes were dark slits.

Before Buddy could explain, Grace stepped forward. "Well, _sir_," she said, in her shrill, New Jersey drawl, "There's nothin' going _on_ here, we're just passengers having a good time. Why don't you try a cannoli, they're freshly baked-"

"You'se the one been coming back asking all those questions."

Grace faltered and seemed to shrink away from his glare. "Well, I - I was just trying to get to _know _you all better, I'm a very personable-"

Without warning, the terrorist raised his revolver and shot Grace in the face. Her head exploded into chunks of splattered brain and flesh, like a cake of a woman who had just been shot in the face. Buddy frowned.

"Hey, buster," he said, taking a step forward, "If you keep up that kinda behavior, I'm gonna dirty ice _you_." He held his icing spatula up in menace, the utensil still smeared with buttercream, and now mixed with the blood of his sister.

The terrorist lowered his gun and chuckled coldly. "I'd say it's _you_ that is on thin icing..." his gaze settled on the Cake Boss's embroidered name tag, "..._Buddy._"

With that, the man turned and shoved past the line of passengers. "And I don't want no more funny business on this plane!" he roared, slamming the door to the cockpit behind him.

The Carlo's Bakery crew stood in stunned silence. No one seemed to be breathing. What remained of Grace's corpse had collapsed on the floor, and the rest of her was splattered all over the display case and the front of Buddy's uniform. "Alright, back to work!" he yelled, slamming the icing spatula down on the counter with a startling _thud_. The crew exchanged apprehensive looks amongst each other and reluctantly went back to rolling out fondant, sculpting cats, and mixing hazelnut cream. Buddy grabbed another handful of buttercream and slapped it violently on the cake.

Thirty minutes later, the cake was filled, stacked, iced, and covered in fondant, with every tiny detail assembled meticulously in its proper place. Buddy took a step back to admire his work - it was a true three tiered masterpiece. Without cutting into it, no one could have suspected that such a beautiful cake held a small army of deadly spiders, just waiting to attack.

Buddy nodded in satisfaction, as his crew and much of the plane gathered around him. "This is good," he said, his eyes sliding over one detail to the next. "This a cake that really screams, 'Craig'. He's gonna enjoy it."

"But do you think it'll save us?" Lisa said.

Buddy smiled coyly and wrapped an arm around his wife's hips, drawing her close. "Oh yeah," he said with confidence. "That's how you thwart a terrorist plot Hoboken-style, baby!"

The plane erupted into cheers, but the passengers quickly quieted themselves for fear of the terrorists noticing something out of the ordinary. Grinning, Buddy loaded the cake onto a cart and wheeled it down the aisle, towards the cockpit. The passengers watched him wordlessly - except for the war-scarred little girl, who looked up at Buddy as he passed her with eyes as big as pound cakes. "Cake Boss," she said, "No matter what happens. You're a national hero."

Buddy smiled and tousled her hair. "_Grazzie_, kid."

He laid three firm knocks on the cockpit door and stood in front of the cake, waiting. It was the birthday terrorist that opened the door. "Whaddya want?" he asked sharply.

"Special delivery for Craig," Buddy said, stepping aside with a flourish to reveal the cake. The man's eyes lit up, and he yanked down his bandana.

"For me…? But - how did you know?"

Buddy smiled that trademark Cake Boss smile. "I's got my sources. Listen, the Cake Boss don't let no man go without a cake on his birthday." He clapped a hand on Craig's back and he stepped aside to let Buddy wheel the cake into the cockpit.

"Lookit this!" Craig announced to the other terrorists, who looked less than pleased at the cake's arrival. "While you'se two knuckleheads was busy ignoring my existence, the Cake Boss here made me a cake. He's got my bandana and everything."

It was moments like this that Buddy lived for. The glimmer of joy in a teenage girl's eyes as he wheeled in her sweet sixteen cake, the cheers of the crowd when Buddy stepped forward with one of his triple tiered beauties. He knew that the cake was merely a ploy to thwart a terrorist plot, but to him, that didn't make the moment any less special.

While the two henchmen and the pilots rushed forward to get a better look at the cake, the head terrorist stood at the control station, staring wistfully out at the distant horizon. He seemed to be in deep thought. "Lovely day, isn't it," he said, lowering his bandana without taking his eyes off the sky.

Buddy looked up. "I s'pose it is. Lovely day to kill the president, huh?"

"No." The man turned towards Buddy with an enigmatic smile. "Lovely day for a reunion."

The Cake Boss furrowed his brow in confusion, and blinked to clear his vision. A reunion? Now that he looked at him without his mask, the man _did _somehow look familiar. In fact - Buddy realized as he took a closer look - he even seemed to share a portion of Buddy's cherubic features. A round face, rosy cheeks. As the Cake Boss peered into his soulful eyes, the man reached up to pull off his beanie, revealing a headful of closely-cropped black hair. There could be no mistake. This man was famiglia.

"D..._Dad_?"

"Buddy." The man whom for so long Buddy had pined for spread his arms, a trembling smile playing at his lips, and drew his son into a passionate embrace. Buddy laced his arms around his father's neck and pulled him close, and they kissed each other deeply. A hint of buttercream still tinged his father's lips, and Buddy savoured the saccharine sweetness as it mixed with the single salty tear that fell from his eye. As they were reunited, Buddy was aware that they were also saying goodbye. The moment was as bittersweet as the ricotta cheese filling of a cannoli.

"_Fatha_," Buddy said shakily as they finally broke their embrace, "But…"

Buddy Sr. placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. "I know this must come as a shock to you, son. I'm sorry we had to go about it this way. But I _had _to see you at last, and it was the only way I could think of." He shook his head sorrowfully and sat down with a heavy sigh. Buddy settled onto his lap, one arm hooked around his father's neck.

"You see, Buddy...when that plane crashed into the sea all those years ago, I used the cakes I had with me as flotation devices, and swam my way back to shore. Eventually, a cruise ship spotted me and took me back to civilization. But I wasn't proud of the man I had become at that point - hijacking planes, planting bombs, I wasn't a good father to you. So, I cut myself off." He began stroking Buddy's hair absentmindedly, and continued. "I'm still not sure if it was the right thing to do, but I did it. Over the years, I watched you grow up from my TV set, I watched you overcome every obstacle they threw at you and bake the most beautiful goddamn cakes I've ever seen in my life. I never knew how to go about reconnecting with you - I wanted to, believe me, more than anything, but I just couldn't." He paused and gazed out the window. The sun was beginning to set, bathing the sky in a golden glow. "Until now."

Without a word, Buddy buried his head in his father's shoulder, breathing in the sweet aroma of cake batter. They sat like that for several minutes, intertwined, a single entity floating through space. "And all this time, I thought you'se was in cake heaven," Buddy murmured.

"That's another thing," his father said hesitantly. "You see...I never said I was a cake baker, Buddy. I told you I was a _snake raker_. When people's yards got infested with snakes, I would go rake them up and take them back to where they belonged. I liked cake, but I was never a baker. You were a very confused child, Buddy, and you had bad hearing."

Buddy raised his head, trying to absorb all this. "A snake raker?"

His father nodded, cradling him in his arms. "That's right. You've based your entire career on a misunderstanding, son."

The Cake Boss shook his head, as if to clear it of all of these unpleasantries. "Nah. I'm the Cake Boss, dad. I make people happy." He inhaled deeply, feeling the air in his lungs, savouring it. "I don't regret a thing."

It was then that a muffled sound caught Buddy's ear - a barely audible ticking. He looked up, and saw the other terrorists had grown impatient, and cut into the cake before Buddy could warn them. He leapt up, but it was too late.

Against the canvas of the evening sky, the plane exploded into a horde of

venomous spiders. All 243 passengers, including the entire cast and crew of _Cake Boss_, were killed instantly. Their ashes rained down upon the land like a dusting of multicolored sprinkles on a cupcake, and the decadent aroma of hazelnut cream filled the air for weeks.


End file.
